Lifestyles of The Rich and Famous
by gobbled234
Summary: How the Wizarding Celebrities and Elite live. Draco proposes to his girlfriend of two weeks, but will she accept? Potter gets drunk and Weasley marries Parkinson. Read more to find out the rest!


Hermione squinted against the blinding flash of cameras snapping at her on her way into the stadium. You would think that after three years of being doggedly pursued by every respectable- and some not so respectable- magazine in the Wizarding World would loosen her up a bit.

But it didn't. Not in the least.

Blaise Zabini sighed, and placed his hand at the small of her back. Granger looked like she had a stick shoved up her arse. "You should answer at least _some _questions Granger. The press think it's rather stingy of you to withhold so much information."

To her credit, she merely glared at him. "They won't let me _throughhh_," she hissed, shoving his hand away from her. "And get your hands off of me Zabini."

He rolled his eyes, forcibly steering her petite body behind the magically conjured podium.

Usually, she was much more composed, but she was feeling slightly lightheaded, and only ever lost her coolness around Blaise. So this time didn't count. Much.

"Ms. Granger, Witch Wee-"

"Ms. Granger! Over he-"

"The Quibbler, Ms. Granger!-"

She turned her head to look over her shoulder. "Hans. Can't you do something about _ this_?" The last word was punctuated with a vague hand waving in front of herself.

Honestly. What was the point of having a bodyguard if he wasn't willing to protect you? Just last week she'd been accosted at a restaurant in San Marcos by a raving lunatic. Something about her and him being _soulmates_ or some other rubbish. The Swedish Meatball, - Pansy's nick name for Hans Birgher- temporarily forgetting it was _her body _he was supposed to be _guarding_- hid himself under the table, and consequentially upending the lunch lying atop said table to topple onto her date's impeccably dressed form.

Gritting her teeth, she cursed Zabini silently. Granted, she owed him for setting her up in what was her first successful relationship, but...she had been receiving more press than usual! Not to mention the amount of bloody Howlers that came- religiously, one would think- every morning.

Hermione had met the devilishly handsome seeker through a mutual friend. Blaise. But the extreme measures she had to go through just to step out of her friggin' flat! Her boyfriend was rather overprotective of her. "Overprotective" in the sense that he had assigned a bodyguard, albeit a highly _crappy _one to protect her person. He also insisted that she move out of her flat. Since, you know, he would argue, the entire Wizarding populace was now aware of where she lived.

She fumed silently. And whose bleeding fault was that?!

"Yes?" she called, pointing a slender finger at a dark-haired reporter.

"_Enchantress__Magazine, _Ms. Granger. I understand that you enjoyed an Italian brunch with International Quidditch Star, the Falmouth Falcon's Seeker, one Mr. Draco Malfoy previous Saturday?"

"Yes," she said cautiously, "You understand correctly."

"And you _are _pursuing a relationship with one another?"

"I-"

"No comment." Blaise's smooth voice cut through.

Hermione glanced at him, grateful for his intervention. She scanned the crowd, before acknowledging an aged man with moss green robes. She smiled at him daintily. He coughed slightly before attempting- what she thought to be- a smile.

"Ms. Granger, may I say, you look absolutely spectacular," he said, once again stretching thin lips across a sallow face. Hermione shuddered. Something was slightly off about this man...

Meanwhile, Blaise racked his brain. _That ugly puke-ish green...where have I seen that colour before...?_

"_PlayWizard_, Ms. Granger-_" _

Ah-hah! Blaise swiftly snapped his fingers. "Security, please escort Mr. Elsby out of the stadium's premises. Mr. Malfoy has a restraining order filed against this man, but apparently, he has forgotten. Refresh his memory for him, will you?"

As soon as the security wizards grasped Elsby's shoulders the reporters went back to clamouring for Hermione's attention.

"One more question Ms. Gra-"

"Dazzling! You look so gorgeo-"

"_Witch Weekly _Ms. Granger! How do you feel about the fact that The Wizarding World's Most Eligible Bachelor is courting you?"

"That concludes the question and answer portion, Ms. Granger will be late for the match."

"But-"

The bouncy blonde withered under Blaise's cool glare.

And on that note, a very flustered Hermione Granger was led through into the stadium.

Feeling very faint, she leaned into Zabini's touch as she climbed the stands wearily. Curious...

"Why isn't anyone trailing us?" She glanced behind anxiously, only to find Hans sluggishly following them.

"Ms. Granger, the way to the Top Box is concealed. Otherwise, the celebrities wouldn't be able to enjoy the game in peace."

She scowled at the hulking man, irritated. "Thank you Hans," she said in a deceptively mild tone- one which did not fool her Italian friend _in the least._

"Don't scowl Granger. It's unbecoming of you."

His attempt at lightening her nervousness worked. Even as she smiled sweetly he felt a sharp pain in his abdomen. Damn. "No elbowing Granger!" he squealed.

As they reached the Top Box, she stilled the two men with a hand. She turned toward Blaise and told him to go ahead. Snickering, he headed off into the stands, greeting their friends who were conspicuously staring at their brunette friend and the Swede.

Hands planted on his hips, she tilted her delicate chin to stare straight into his eyes.

Hans marveled the beauty of his client's lady friend. "Stop staring at me," she demanded, crossing her arms over her chest. Not in a protective, scared gesture, mind you. She was annoyed, thus taking up her current stance which involved a lot of chin tilting and glaring.

"Just so you know, 'Birgher' means 'to help.' Get your act together, or I'll tell Draco you use _me _for _your _protection."

As she stalked up to her seat, he admired her legs. Angelic witch. One hell of a temper.

Draco flew around the stadium, warming up. He had invited Potter and Co. earlier. He hadn't anticipated that much paparazzi, otherwise he would have invited them even _earlier. _No matter, they could handle it. However he _was_ concerned for Granger, his extremely shy, intelligent, claustrophobic, girlfriend. He had to fire that Swedish Meatball (Pansy's name, not his).

He needed to find someone discreet, someone who would actually protect her, and someone most definitely female. His reasons were justified. They were. Even Potter said so.

Swooping down in front of a bright green door (his idea) he was greeted to many cheers and yells.

"Draco mate!" Weasley clapped him on the shoulder as he distractedly smirked at him. Where was she?

"She's giving that sorry excuse for a guard a verbal thrashing." Suddenly his nostrils were invaded with a heavily-perfumed scent.

"Pans," he acknowledged. "Don't you mean 'lashing?'"

"Nope," she said cheerily. "Well, go on," she coaxed, pushing him in her direction.

He walked toward Granger who was stomping toward them. She. Looked. Deliciously. Shaggable.

Of course if he told her that, she might be scared away. And Draco definitely didn't want that to happen.

Dressed in a pinstriped champagne-coloured pantsuit, she had a silk Hermès scarf tied loosely around her neck. Small diamond studs graced her ears and her gorgeous hair was tastefully swept back in a shining caramel knot at the base of her neck.

She was so sleek and sophisticated, his Granger. True, they had only known each other 'intimately' for seven days, but already Draco could sense his feelings intensify for her. She was, for lack of a better word, perfect. He was falling fast and hard. The weird thing was, usually, one week into the relationship- had it been any other girl- he would have broken it off. Why, you ask? They hadn't had sex yet. 'Intimate' only went so far as kissing and hand holding.

Yes. Draco Malfoy had gone an entire week_ not getting some_, and he was alright with it. Which, the thought in itself, was quite screwed. But she was worth it, and she was the one. He knew it.

"Hey," he greeted grinning at her.

She blushed, and his grin widened.

"Hello," she returned shyly.

He raised an eyebrow at her. She looked...sick? Her gorgeous amber eyes were half-lidded, and she looked as if holding back a sneeze. Her usually rosy complexion was slightly pallid, but despite her current state, she looked nothing short of beautiful.

"You look really cute."

What the _fuck? _(It was true though, she looked adorable with her chic outfit and pink cheeks.) She was going to think he was a ponce or something, and he didn't sound _half _as suave as he-

"That's really sweet," she said, beaming at him.

But it was okay. She thought it was sweet.

"Do I get a good luck kiss?"

"For what?"

He gave her a look. Amused, he jiggled the expensive broom occupying his left hand.

"Oh." She bit her full, downy lip and he suppressed a groan. "Um...no?"

Did he...do something? No, he knew for a fact he didn't. Incredulous, he asked, "Why not?"

She then smirked at him, and the broom clattered to the ground. She twined her fingers around his neck and he touched their foreheads against each other. "You won't need the luck Mr. Malfoy," she whispered seductively.

Her teasing smile faltered as he brushed a light kiss across one cheek, then the other. When his mouth was a mere centimeter from hers, so close that they were breathing each other's exhalations, Hermione turned her head and Draco growled.

"What now?"

"I- I'm- Draco, I... think I'm sick?" she offered feebly.

He scrutinized her face. She looked as if she was going to break down crying. "Oh darling," he sighed. Grasping her soft hand, he led her away from their friends, away from the stands, and into a room.

"We're in the...changing rooms?" Scrunching her nose as the stench of sweat pervaded her senses, she glanced around their surroundings in disbelief.

"I have a few vials of Pepper Up Potion I keep with myself. Just in case." Tipping her chin, he slipped the potion into her mouth.

He sat on a bench, waiting for the full effects of the medicine kick to in.

_Ahh. Much Better. _She looked at him gratefully. "You really didn't have t-"

"Don't be silly," Draco cut her off firmly.

He pulled her onto his lap. Almost immediately, Hermione flung her arms around his neck and buried her face into his chest. After a long time, she spoke up. "Draco," she sniffled, looking up at him tentatively. Slightly surprised, he nodded encouragingly at her. _Merlin,_ when crying she looked even more gorgeous...if that was possible. Her large amber eyes were dramatically outlined with long, dark lashes that clung with tears. Her lips were in a sort-of pout, all pink and swollen.

He snapped out of his trance when she desperately rubbed her cheeks with a balled up fist. Draco bit his lip, trying to suppress the sudden urge to laugh. She looked like a small, lost child. The very picture of innocence.

"Uhm, do you want to talk?" he asked her delicately.

"I'm being stupid," she attempted to laugh but instead hiccuped. Mortified, she pressed her damp face into the crook of his neck "I came with Blaise and we were going into the stadium when we were mobbed by reporters. He made a sympathetic noise, and rubbed her back soothingly. "Then," she continued, "Blaise said I was being stingy, and should just answer some questions. You know, to get them off my back..._he implied."_ She paused once again, and what she did made Draco's eyes pop out. Settling herself against his back she reached behind, having him encircle her bare arms. "I'm hot," she said. By way of explanation, he supposed.

Her pink camisole was very pretty, and it looked wonderful against her creamy arms.

"There was a reporter from _PlayWizard_," she said bitterly, leaning into his embrace.

"Ah." His voice was tight with anger, and she turned around to stare at him, surprised.

"I can't believe I didn't recognize the robes."

Draco laughed hollowly. "How did you NOT recognize _him_?"

She stared up at him confused. "Should I?"

Draco stared at her. "Sweetheart," he sighed, rubbing her arms, "that man is obsessed with you. He would like nothing better than t-"

"Okay, okay I get it," she said, panicking a bit.

He pressed a kiss to her fragrant curls.

Her sweet voice asked, "Why do you have a restraining order against him?" Granger's doe eyes went wide. "He didn't!" Apparently, some very lewd thoughts were passing through her head. Eww, no. Unfortunately, (for her sake), Elsby was quite straight.

Draco laughed, nuzzling his face against her cheek. "Of course not!"

She stared at him curiously. Then who filed the restraining order? As if reading her mind he elaborated, "One of my ex-girlfriends' suggestion."

Her face fell, and something in his chest twinged painfully.

"Would it help if it was Parkinson that gave me the idea?"

She smiled slightly, and he thought he'd never seen anyone so radiant.

"Yeah," she said softly.

"OI! MALFOY! GET YOUR PALE ARSE OUT HERE RIGHT NOW! THE GAME CAN'T BLOODY WELL START WITHOUT YOU!"

Ron's voice joined the first one. "Lee, you've got the _Sonorous _charm on mate."

"BUGGER! _Quietus.._ Oops. I mean...bugger. Malfoy's going to kill me isn't he?"

"Damn straight Jordan, " Draco yelled out. " Damn straight."

TBC...Read and Review!


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